Vertical Horizon
by Arsahi
Summary: Tortall has lost the Scanran War (alternate reality-ish). What could have happened when Kel and company were left.


**Vertical Horizon**  
_Hourglass_

The passage of time is neither smooth nor rough, neither violent nor gentle, neither strong nor weak. Time is fickle. It passes slowly in a moment, but quickly in our memories. The damage done now affects the future in unprecedented ways. The choices we make today can lead to unforeseen fortune, or terrible tragedy. No one can see The Future, though some glimpse its infinite possibilities.

Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan gazed out over the ocean, watching the waves as they broke upon the shore. Two children played in the surf, absorbed in the now. The future was a dim possibility in the backs of their minds. One child, the taller of the two and female, tripped over a rock and fell, spread-eagle, upon the wet sand. She rose laughing, and pointed at the imprint of her frail body.

Kel frowned. These two children embodied the misfortune that had befallen Tortall in the past few months. The war up north had become an utter failure with such rapidity it had shocked them all. Despite Tortall's best efforts, the Scanrans had banded together after overthrowing Maggur and invaded. At first they took only the border towns. The more fiefs they took, the farther back they pushed Tortallan forces, and more knights and soldiers became casualties.

Corus had been the last to go.

Carthak had risen, becoming too enamored with its own growing power, and overtook southern Tortall, along with its surrounding countries. It was an utter nightmare that grew more horrific as the days went by.

The Royal Family had all been slain. The palace had been struck down, burned to the ground so it was little more than ashes and foundations. The Temple District remained untouched (even the Scanrans respect the Divine), but the rest of the city had been pillaged and ransacked. Orphaned children ran the streets, corpses littered the sides of the roads. The dead and dying marked what was once the capitol city of Tortall.

Behind her, Kel heard horses clattering upon the remains of the cobbled pathway that breasted the ocean cliff. Her eyes went wide, and she scrambled beneath the lip of the cliff, hanging desperately inside of a shallow cave. Scanrans marched by, their supply wagon rattling noisily behind them. They stopped.

"Do you see anything?" asked one of them in quick Scanran slang.

There was silence except for the breaking waves and the nervous tittering of one of the animals above.

"No. Nothing but the children," answered another voice. Authoritative, powerful. Must have been a General.

"Should we kill 'em?" said a third voice. All three voices were male. This third voice had a lisp.

"No." The General, this time. "They are children. They are starving. Leave them."

"But sir--" Lisp tried to protest.

The sound of something wet being pierced echoed over the cliff. The children below froze and looked up. Apparently, they recognized the Scanrans, for they shrieked and ran away, out of sight.

"Do you dare to disobey me, Crayn?" the General demanded.

"No, no sir," the man called Crayn, the one with the lisp, whimpered.

There was a moment of silence again. "You know our orders. We are to be at the Fallen City within three days. We are more than five away, at this slow pace. Company out."

The sound of horses and the wagon resumed, growing fainter as they moved away. Kel exhaled, releasing the breath she hadn't realized she held. She shook her head sadly and looked back down at the empty beach. When had she, Keladry of Mindelan, become such a coward?

Since she had seen New Hope burn to the ground. Since she had seen her entire fort slain before her very eyes, and had killed a great number of the Scanran invaders herself. Since she had seen her best friend Yuki killed in front of her.

She choked back a sob. It wouldn't do to grieve over them now, six months dead. No, she had to move on. She had to find other survivors, band together, and try to live.

Two days passed, and Kel found herself wandering afoot in the remains of what once had been one of the most beautiful forests in the lands. It had been six months, three weeks, four days, nine hours, and twenty-three minutes since she had last seen a live, familiar face.

She was defeated.

Kel reached to the pouch hanging from her belt by bare threads and jammed her fingers into it, searching. Searching for a scrap of food. Anything edible. She had lost what little she had about a month ago. Her pouch contained nothing but stale air, and a few worthless coins.

With this realization, Kel stumbled over a fallen, rotting log, and didn't bother to rise. Her cheek scraped against a rock, her arm draped across the dead root of a stump as if it were her lover.

It was over.

She no longer felt the urge to continue. As hunger pains struck her stomach again, Kel brought her legs over the stump and tucked them underneath her. A soft, strangled sob escaped her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The tears fell, unheeded, as she sobbed, face down in the dirt. She was finally beaten, defeated. She surrendered. She would die here. Starving, gasping for air and water, drowning in her own salty tears, she would perish.

She just didn't care.

She was one person. She could not save the dead kingdom of Tortall alone. The hilt of her sword jabbed into her protruding ribs, leaving a round bruise, but she didn't give it a second thought. It hurt, but nowhere near as much as her stomach caving in on itself. She had not eaten for days.

A noise behind her caught her attention for a brief moment and paused her tears.

"Who's there?" a voice called. Gruff, scratchy. It sounded almost as parched as she felt. It was male.

She did not answer.

"Hello?" the voice called again. It echoed off of the sparse trees. Footsteps came closer, louder. Her body refused to move.

Fingers gently touched her back.

"Hello there," the voice said, feeling her body rise and fall with her pitiful breath. "I know you're alive, I can feel your life in your veins. It's thready, but you're alive. Who are you?"

Kel dimly recognized the voice. However, all she did was grunt softly.

"Can you hear me?" the voice asked gently, climbing over the log. The owner of the voice gently turned her over.

Eyes like emerald fire took in her face. Hair that was once the color of healthy mahogany hung lifelessly in those eyes. Kel knew this face. Who was this? She couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight. Her body curled in on itself as another hunger pain hit.

"Kel?" he asked breathlessly, shaking fingers touching her forehead. Tears came to his eyes as he touched the cut along her cheek, the wound healing in a spark of green. "Kel...is it you? Is it really you?"

She managed a nod. Gulping down air, Kel breathed, "Neal..."

A strangled laugh cascaded from his mouth. "Kel, Kel," he said, over and over. Nealan of Queenscove gathered her into his arms, rocking her back and forth, clutching her to his chest. "Kel, Kel." He kissed her forehead, he kissed her cheeks, he kissed each of her eyelids. "It's you. It's you."

"Barely," she said weakly, and the world went black.


End file.
